


A Loss for Words

by CarrieAnn



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Lack of Communication, Season/Series 03, Slow Burn, tiny bit of Donna Smoak, tiny bit of Roy Harper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 16:30:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3454097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarrieAnn/pseuds/CarrieAnn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver and Felicity can't fully communicate--after his death, after Ray, after Malcolm and Ra's--but their sustained connection will slowly draw them closer together again, and closer to the moment of truth.</p><p>Or, five times they can't say everything they want to say, and one time they finally do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Feeling frustrated by the lack of communication between these two, I decided to lean all the way into it, and see how this period of disconnection could lead them back to each other. Begins post-309; canon-compliant through 315. May vaguely nod at spoilers afterward, or ignore them completely, because I'm not at all concerned with accuracy or speculation here.
> 
> Huge thanks to apinknightmare, who is simply the best.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set between 309 and 312. Felicity has a recurring dream.

Hazy light through the curtains, like an hour after dawn.

Her fingers travel between the sheets, finding the back of his hand. His skin is warm, a little dry; soft hairs run up toward his knuckles. When the thin bones move under his skin, it feels like his bowstring, tensing.

Sliding her hand around his wrist, her fingers trace his life line up onto his palm. His hand folds, and he runs the rough pads of his fingers over hers. Once. Twice.

 _This is nice,_ she whispers.

He squeezes her hand, and as he starts to turn to look at her, he says, _Been wondering when you were going to wake up._

***

Awake.

There is no moment of confusion. There is no moment at all, anymore, when she believes he is alive. No attempt to reach for him. No looking at the other side of the bed.

Oliver is not there. He has never been there, and he will never be there.

She repeats these words to herself—like reciting a prayer, like performing atonement—but still, almost every morning for the weeks since they learned he was dead, Felicity has had the same dream.

It feels so real, so slight and simple, she could almost believe it’s a memory. If she had more of her mother in her, she might think it’s a psychic vision. Telepathy. A brief glimpse through a window to a parallel dimension. But instead, she accepts the truth. That it’s just a wisp of a dream, about a moment they never got to have.

Publicly, Oliver Queen is not dead. So when her mom asks if something’s wrong, Felicity can’t tell her that her handsome friend is gone, that she is desolate, that she needs her. Instead, she offers a partial truth: she hasn't been sleeping well. Donna moms at her about working too hard and drinking too much coffee.

"I think I’m just waking up a lot in the night," Felicity sighs. And then she finds herself saying, with forced lightness, "Wanna interpret my dreams for me?"

“You remember that?!” Her mother giggles, that bright, twinkly laugh of hers. “Man, Teresa and I were really into that for awhile....” Then in a smoky voice, she says, “Tell me your dreams, I’ll give you your fortune.”

Felicity gives her a generic description of the Oliver dream, and Donna promises to track down her books after her shift. She follows through the next day, sending Felicity everything she has on hands in dreams. In summary, holding hands is a sign of love, of deep connection to another person. Could also be a sign of fear of losing them.

Donna ends the email by asking, “Is there someone I should know about??????? ;)”

 _Yeah,_ Felicity thinks, _you should have known about him._

***

The dream has become her totem. She runs her mind over it like fingers rubbing the faces of a lucky penny. She knows every curve and groove, and she can find them immediately when she needs to throughout the day. For that moment, Felicity can feel an echo of the lightness that permeates the dream. For a moment, the constant weight on her chest eases just enough to let her take a full breath.

But like any intoxicant, there’s a catch. In this case, it’s that the dream never changes. She can never really see Oliver, and she never says any of the million things that fill her mind all day. Nothing but _This is nice._

And it is. So nice. It may be just about the nicest thing in the world, Felicity thinks, to wake up with the person you love. To find him there, next to you, all sleepy and warm. To hold his hand. To hear his voice first thing in the morning.

_Been wondering when you were going to wake up._

But she wants more. She wants to look at him, to memorize every inch of his face. She wants to slide her feet over and tuck them between his calves, and then slide her whole body over and just feel surrounded by him.

She wants to talk to him; to say so many things, to say the biggest thing. And when it’s hard, during the waking hours, Felicity wants to be able to reach for that moment, when she says it and Oliver hears it and knows it’s true. She wants to replay it so many times it stops feeling like a dream.

***

And then a few days later, Oliver is alive. In an instant, the whole world changes again, and just like that, it's the past month that feels like a dream. Of course Oliver was never dead. Of course that was never possible.

From the second he steps into the room, Felicity can’t stop herself from scanning every bit of him she can see, from pressing her whole body into his. She doesn’t really breathe until she feels his pulse through his jacket, and then she has to fight off this wild urge to slip her hands under his clothing, to get as close to that heartbeat as possible, to check his scars to make sure this is real; that he is really her Oliver.

But too quickly, she learns that he isn’t, not really. And in the end, she doesn’t say any of the words she’d imagined saying to him, if she ever got the chance. She says others instead—words that burn like acid in her mouth—and she spends the rest of the night, and several days after, coming to terms with the fact that there’s nothing left to say. Mourning, all over again.

It occurs to Felicity that maybe she never fully believed Oliver was dead, and the dream was her subconscious trying to send that message. And now that he is officially alive, but still not really living, maybe not even the same person she dreamed about...well, maybe it’s time to finally wake up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver comes to some realizations. Takes place post-315.

He’s on the bike, and doesn’t even remember driving to this particular block, and maybe he would have just continued on and pretended not to notice where he ended up, except that he sees the car, and he finds himself stopped right next to it.

You don’t see a lot of Aston Martins in Starling City, but an electric blue convertible with the license plate PTECH is especially hard to miss.

Particularly here, parked between a Honda Civic and a Volvo wagon, in Felicity’s decidedly middle-class neighborhood. At one in the morning.

For a minute, Oliver keeps his eyes firmly on the license plate. It infuriates him. Why not just issue an invitation to people to vandalize your vehicle? Or steal it. Or God knows what else—stalk you, plant a bug, plant a bomb. It’s reckless. And for the moment Oliver allows himself to ignore that his own parents drove vehicles with similar plates for years. Anyway, things were different in Starling back then.

The anger tricks him into believing he’s strong enough, and he looks up toward Felicity's townhouse. Bad idea. All dark up there.

He revs the engine and speeds off, back toward wherever. Not here.

***

_It’s not like you didn’t know,_ he tells himself.

But he didn’t. Not for sure. He’s been back for almost six weeks, but somehow Oliver’s structured his life so that he can avoid conversations with her. Off in Lian Yu, Nanda Parbat. Training with Thea and...well, he tried not to do that at the lair, so it had to happen at the loft, or some field, or abandoned warehouse, or wherever the fuck.

It feels like Felicity works at least as hard to avoid him. She does her part in the Foundry—every day, every time they need her, she is on the spot. But the minute they’re clear, she leaves. Off to work, it seemed at first, but then it all just blended into some vaguely Ray-shaped excuse, and Oliver quickly got the feeling that the Ray things were bleeding into her non-work life. Maybe they never stopped, after that kiss.

So now, it’s official, and there’s no more pretending or denying. Oliver is in love with her, and she is with someone else, and on the one hand, that is logical. That is right. Because of course he can’t be with her.

But on the other hand, he is certain they are supposed to be together. He can actually see them that way sometimes—a parallel version of Oliver and Felicity who get to be happy. Who bring each other coffee in the mornings, hold each other’s hand across tables, catch each other’s eye in meetings, wrap themselves around each other every night. Who believe in each other, and take care of each other, and love each other, and never stop.

This is how it’s been with him, since Slade took her. Holding two divergent thoughts at all times—that of course he can’t be with her, and that of course he has to be with her. It hasn’t been fair, and he knows that. It was selfish to ask her out to dinner, and it was selfish to cut her off, and it was selfish to tell her he loved her, and maybe it was even selfish to leave right after. But he doesn’t know how to look more than one step ahead anymore, and he wouldn’t take it back, even now.

***

The following night, when Oliver comes back in from the field, Felicity’s already headed toward the other door, pink coat on, bag slung over her shoulder. He sees the way her forehead creases for an instant, and he knows she was hoping to be out before he got back. He averts his gaze, because though he’s sorry and he deserves it, it still hurts to know that his presence alone bothers her. He can take a lot, but he doesn’t have it in him tonight to absorb that, too.

“All okay with Captain Lance?” she asks. He’s forced to look back up at her. There’s a certain regret in her eyes—she feels bad that he feels bad that she feels bad, and that's pretty much the story between them these days.

Oliver gives a small shrug. “For tonight, yeah. But it’s...he’s not feeling great about us, right now.”

“I know," Felicity nods sadly. "Look, he will get past this. Eventually.”

He nods too, and he should say more, because those words are hanging in the air now, transforming, taking on weight that they can’t bear. But clearly Felicity knows he won’t, because she says a quiet goodnight and continues past him, out of this cave, to live a life about which he knows nothing and can't bring himself to ask.

Oliver, on the other hand, has so many secrets, so many things he should tell Felicity someday, but his current life is almost entirely an open book to her. There is basically only this. There is only surviving, and protecting the city, and trying not to lose anyone else. Only training, and planning, and fighting.

Of course he can’t keep this up forever. And of course he has to do just that. Two divergent thoughts that only reconcile in an early death.

The one thing he keeps back from Felicity these days is the question—the one he only let himself ask after Sara died, but which had slowly wormed its way into his consciousness over the past two years—the central question of his life.  _What if he doesn't die?_

What if he lives?

It’s the most dangerous question there is, because everything changes. If Oliver lives, he needs to allow for a future. He should have a job—another job, with income, and potential for fulfillment, whatever that means. He should make a home somewhere. He should think about succession—about how to let go someday—and about the long-term health of this city, and of his own body. He should think about what it would mean to be happy. At peace.

His team has been through so much, and they've beaten impossible odds at every step. But Oliver knows, though his teammates don’t wish to see it, that part of the reason for their success and continued survival is that at the end of the day, he is willing to die for it.

If he lets himself have a real life, one that brings him real happiness, he's not at all sure he would still be willing to lose it. And he may be the only one among them aware of what that could cost him. What it could cost them all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver finds out about Ray and Ray finds out about Oliver and they both find out about Felicity's role. Story is non-canon-compliant from here on out, and does not take 316 into account.

Ninety minutes ago, SCPD disarmed a bomb on Star Bridge while Oliver detained the Brother Blood fanatic who rigged it. For a minute, it was a nice win, and maybe it would have even earned them a few points back with Captain Lance. But within seconds all hell broke loose again, when a missile fell from the sky, into an alleyway about a hundred feet from the police roadblock. One hundred feet from where officers still had traffic stopped; cars and buses and trucks idling, waiting for the all-clear, and any one of them could have been hit.

Only it wasn’t a missile. It was Ray, and his suit had malfunctioned. Or he had. Unclear. Felicity and Dig were a few blocks away in the van, but as soon as Oliver started describing what he was seeing, all she could do was say, “Oh my God, Oliver, that’s Ray. It’s Ray. You have to help him.” And then she started running, Dig right beside her.

Oliver said nothing to her from that point, but left his comms on, so she heard him confirm that Ray was all right, and then instruct him to tell the police that this was a top secret military project, above their clearance, while Oliver took to the shadows.

By the time they arrived, Captain Lance had cleared out the rest of his officers, and he was livid. But in order to prevent a scene, he let Dig take Ray in the van, while Oliver took off on the bike. Felicity stayed back to try to explain, to plead for patience and forgiveness. She’s not sure they’ll get either—not with how close they came tonight. But finally Quentin let her go too, with one last look full of disappointment, weariness, all manner of things she wished she could erase.

Now, as she enters the Foundry a half hour later, she’s coming into a situation already in progress for the second time in one night. Felicity’s stomach drops at the sound of their voices, together, here. She has so much to say to everyone in this room, and now it’s too late on all sides, and she can only imagine what they’ve been saying to each other in her absence.

Oliver is holding himself still, she notices as she quickly descends the stairs, but there is something in his stance and in the way his hands are curved, fingers spread and rigid, that feels ready to pounce. He’s almost snarling as he says to Ray, “I don’t want to see or hear about that suit again until it is flawless, and you have put in the time to know how to operate it, backwards and forwards. I won’t cover for you with the police. And I won’t support you here.”

Then he hears her heels clicking on the stairs and his eyes flick over to her. There is a swirl of emotions there, none of them good.

Ray turns too, and while he looks a little closed-off, she can also tell that he's relieved to see her. He’s standing next to the med table, where the suit and helmet—scuffed but intact—are laid out. It makes an impossible picture. That suit is not meant for this kind of space. The shiny metal and blinking lights don’t belong down here with the crumbling concrete and leaky pipes, not to mention the other two men, clad in leather and analog-era weapons.

Dig comes toward her as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, holding out his hands for her bag and coat. She gives them to him, absently, and he heads off somewhere, probably wanting to get far away from this scene.

Before she can begin, Oliver breaks the short silence. “You did this?”

“What? No. I helped with a few piec--”

“But you knew what the pieces were for.”

Felicity hesitates. The truth is that no, she didn’t always know what she was working on. But that’s not pertinent and would not be helpful right now, so she simply says, “Yes, I knew.”

“I’ve been working on the plans for this for almost a year,” Ray interjects. “Felicity had no idea when she came to work for me, and she only found out through her own ingenuity.”

“But you needed her,” Oliver says, with a question in his voice. “You couldn’t have completed the suit without her _ingenuity.”_

“That’s true. But I wouldn’t have stopped, even without Felicity. I would have figured out those pieces eventually.”

“Maybe,” Oliver says, coldly, “but you couldn’t wait that long. So you brought her into this, knowing the dangers.”

Felicity sighs incredulously, and Ray glances stagily around the lair, saying, “I mean, it’s actually kind of endearing that you could say those words with a straight face.”

Oliver sneers and advances, so Felicity takes a step toward him. “Ohhhhhh-kay,” she says in her loud voice. “No one brought me into anything that I didn’t decide to take part in on my own. I’m a big girl, and my eyes are wide open. This wasn’t my first time at the vigilante rodeo. I understood all about the dangers.”

“I thought you did,” Oliver says. “But then, you would have told us, so we could have prevented Ray from nearly taking out a van full of kids.”

The room goes quiet. Felicity can’t argue it, can’t defend herself with the fact that she thought she had more time because of course that doesn’t matter. She can’t say that she told Ray to wait, to get this right, to be absolutely 100% before he just flew into danger. She can’t admit that obviously he didn’t listen to her, either. Can’t point out that it’s something thing they have in common. So she says nothing at all.

“I’m done here for tonight,” Oliver says, taking a breath and closing his eyes for a second. When he opens them, and looks at her, there’s a confusion in his eyes that borders on shock. She recognizes it because she’s felt it about him before, and she’s a little shocked herself, to find how deeply it hurts. “I don’t...I don’t know what else to say to you,” he says.

“Well, you could just listen,” Felicity suggests, wearily, “but why start now?” And even if it would be better to clear the air tonight, she is going to take the out, because she is suddenly exhausted. “We can talk tomorrow.”

Oliver has the grace to look slightly chastened as he nods. Then he holds his position for a few seconds, until finally quirking an eyebrow at Ray, who says, “Oh,” and picks up his helmet to leave. Felicity feels she too has been dismissed, and it’s never stung quite as badly, or felt so wrong, as it does as this time.

***

Felicity slumps further into the booth at Verdant, spinning her highball in a pool of its own condensation, waiting for Dig to come and find her. Ray just left. The suit is in a corner of the Foundry until he can pick it up tomorrow. For tonight, she’s giving him time to process.

Though, actually, he wasn’t all that surprised. Well, not about the Arrow piece, anyway. The Oliver part is less clear. Felicity didn't volunteer, and he didn't ask, but she supposes it's pretty obvious that Oliver is the person she told him about in January. Ray didn't seem jealous or upset, but that distance she noticed when she first came into the foundry didn't disappear. He is re-contextualizing, redefining, considering how to protect himself. She gets it.

Explaining it all to him was sort of a relief. It will be nice not to lie every time she has Arrow business—that’s part of it. But the other part is that Felicity simply can't bring herself to be all that concerned about Ray's feelings about this. She hopes he gets over it. She hopes he's not too hurt that she had secrets. But it was not entirely her secret to tell, and she doesn’t regret keeping it. The truth is that she knows it was the easiest of all the conversations she will have, because the emotions involved are simpler, her position more defensible.

That distinction becomes even more obvious when her heart clenches at the sight of Dig making his way through the empty bar toward the booth, her bag and coat slung over one arm. His face is open and warm as usual as he slides in across from her, but her heart keeps pounding anyway. Here is a person she never wanted to disappoint or hurt, and she can't help but feel like she did.

“Figured you couldn’t get too far without this stuff,” Dig says, with a little smirk.

Felicity smiles, taking her coat and bag from him over the table, “Thank you.” She hands over the bottle of beer she grabbed for him when she mixed her own drink. “It was a convenient way to ensure you’d have to talk to me,” she admits.

“Not sure how much of the talking I’m going to do. But listening—I can do that.”

She nods, and as he squints at her expectantly, she takes a gulp of her vodka tonic and plunges in. She sketches out the timeline of how things progressed—from taking the job, to finding out about the suit, to actually working on it. That brings them up to date, and Felicity concludes, “So I mean, Ray just finished it, like, days ago, and there’s been so much going on...”

“Yeah, it hasn’t been easy,” John says. He purses his lips for a second. “But Felicity, this is big. You know? Huge.”

“I know," she sighs. "And I really don’t know why I didn’t come to you about it. All I can tell you is that I’m sorry. I just...thought I’d have more time.”

“Time for what?”

She frowns, realizing that she doesn’t really know the answer. “I guess...for Ray to perfect the suit, and come up with some sort of gameplan for it. Or...for me to figure out whether I—or we—were going to be a part of that.”

“Well, we were always going to be a part of it in some way. I mean, Oliver thought this guy flying around in some mechanical suit was a new threat to Starling. Who wouldn’t?” She nods, biting her lip, and Dig looks at her for a minute and says, “I think maybe you just didn’t want your worlds to collide.”

Felicity lets out a rueful laugh and raises her eyebrows. “You know, I didn’t. And I didn’t go looking for this. I tried to convince Ray not to go down this road, but he wouldn’t hear it. And I’m not in the best position to force that particular issue.”

Dig smiles but there is a tinge of sadness in it, like there has been for months. “Okay, well, listen. I get what happened, and I own my part in it. When Oliver was gone...it threw all of us. And when he got back, I mean, I think I’ve been so focused on him, trying to keep him alive and here with us, that I wasn’t really here for you.”

“Whoa, Dig, no,” Felicity says, grabbing his hand across the table. “I’ve always known you were there, and I could have pulled you aside at any time. This isn’t on you.”

“It’s not all on you, either,” he shrugs. “That’s not how partnership works, partner. Don’t let Oliver forget that, when you talk to him.”

Felicity tips her glass to toast with him. “You’re a good friend, partner.” Then she drains the last of her cocktail, and drawls, “Sooooooooo, about that talk with Oliver...you wanna just...do that for me? You can tell him all this stuff, and throw in some things about how I'm really sorry, but maybe also about how he is just _impossible_ right now, and then you can like, text me when it's safe to come back?”

John laughs, "Not a chance," and stands to pull her into a hug, and it is the best thing she’s felt in so long; it’s almost enough to make her forget that the hardest conversation is still to come.

***

It takes until almost midnight the next night, but her patience pays off. Oliver returns from a solo patrol, and nods at her in understanding when he sees her, but then heads straight back to the shower. Felicity tries desperately to focus on work, but only manages to re-read the same paragraph nine times without absorbing any of it.

Finally, Oliver emerges from the little alcove he called home for four months, and pulls out the chair where he sharpens his arrows. He doesn’t sit, though—just stands behind it, forearms on the headrest. She stands too, heart in her throat, and moves a little closer, asking, “Ready to talk about this?”

He shrugs slightly in response, and she understands that he still has nothing to say.

“Okay,” Felicity says, steadying herself. “So the short version of how all this happened is that Ray had the idea for the suit sometime last summer, and was already developing it when we met." She does her best to push the thought of that day, and the days that followed, from her mind. "Um, and then he brought me into it indirectly when I started working for him, but at that point I didn’t know what he was actually using this stuff for. I only figured it out a couple months ago, and believe me, I _did_ try to steer him away from all this, especially after you--”

She breaks off for a few seconds, because sometimes when she’s not fully focused, a stray thought of Oliver’s death catches her off-guard and knocks the wind out of her. There’s this pale shadow of grief inside her, still aching, like a phantom limb. And it takes a moment to recalibrate, to remind herself that he’s still here, for now.

Oliver’s watching her, eyes flickering, and Felicity hastily continues, “Well, you were gone. Even after you got back, you were _still_ gone a lot. So, you know, things were happening...without you...and I had to make decisions I might not have made otherwise. And to be honest, I’m not sure I ever really believed the suit would work.”

“But it does work. And you knew that,” he says, pushing the chair back under the table. “For how long?”

“A couple weeks? During which, if you recall, you were in Nanda Parbat risking your life, and Dig’s, to save a mass--” Felicity stops, feeling the blood rush to her head. “Never mind.” She looks to the ceiling, willing herself to be calm and not succeeding. “I should have told you. I’m sorry I didn’t. I’m sorry that I don’t know how to talk to you anymore. I’m just—I’m sorry that I added another problem to your list.”

Oliver’s shoulders fall. “Felicity, that’s not what--”

“But you don’t have to worry about it anyway, because you were right last night. That suit is on lockdown until the kinks are ironed out, and we’ll cross all the other bridges later, I guess.”

They’re still standing the now-requisite five feet apart, but Oliver takes a step toward her. Felicity’s eyes are fixed on a stain on the floor, which is becoming fuzzier by the second. She swallows, and he takes another step, and another, until he ends up alongside her.

“Hey,” he says, just above a whisper.

She blinks to clear her eyes and turns to look at him. His shoulders are drawn up and his eyelids flutter a bit, and she realizes he’s nervous, and while that’s not great, it’s better than angry or hurt. “I’m sorry I’ve been...but you can talk to me,” Oliver says.

Felicity shrugs gently, “I can’t really.” And there are so many other things she could say—about how the reason she can’t talk to him is that sometimes it feels like talking to a dead man, that there is a light that has gone out behind his eyes, and it’s easier to just not see it. That she’s accepted, and even been grateful for this distance between them, because maybe it will help a little the next time he dies.

But instead, she just clears her throat and says, “Um, but I will let you know how things go, with the suit, after we take it to Central City. And you know, if it does work, Ray could really help you. Help the whole city. I mean, I’m hoping this will actually end up being a good thing for us, someday.”

Felicity hears that after she says it, and there’s an implication that she didn’t intend, but clarifying would only make it worse-- _oops too late,_ mouth already running-- “I mean, because, you know, you wouldn’t have to shoulder everything all the time. Not that you do right now, because there’s Dig and Roy and even Laurel—I mean, for the time being—who knows? And not that any of them can do what _you_ do, I’m not saying that, but if Ray were out there flying around in his suit, that could help too. The more the merrier, probably, right? Or at least the more the...more likely you could take a day off, sometime…. Or, I guess, save more lives, stop more bad guys...probably more important...”

Oliver’s eyebrows are raised slightly, but then his face softens into a smile, a nice, real one, and he says, “See? You _can_ still talk to me.”

Felicity frowns and rolls her eyes at him. But then a laugh bubbles up, and despite herself, she gives into it. And for a minute, they’re just themselves again, side by side in the Foundry, smiling at each other. It makes her feel a sort of wonder; like when you stumble upon something you misplaced and gave up as lost. And she feels a familiar impulse—to turn the dimmer on, to dampen that feeling, to swallow it—but she ignores that urge. For now, she's going to let herself feel something for Oliver other than disappointment and fear; she's going to let herself remember that they used to feel this way all the time, that she once believed they always would. She might even let herself admit that she wouldn't be able to shut it down this time, even if she wanted to; that maybe she never really could.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity gives Oliver a little push to realize that Thea might need one too.

Oliver’s toweling off on the mats when she comes through the door upstairs. It’s late; later than he would have expected anyone, especially Felicity, to come into the lair when there’s no emergency. She’s been back from Central City for a week, and it seems like Cisco got the job done, because Ray has been diligent about practicing in the suit. Or so Oliver’s told. He tries to stay out of it.

He quickly throws a t-shirt on, and says, “Hi,” when she comes into view. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“It’s late,” he shrugs.

“Oh, right,” Felicity says, taking off her bag and coat. “I’m just, you know, still catching up. Want to stay on top of everything here. The last thing we need is to miss something like that bomber again because we’re so focused on the League of Assassins.”

Oliver nods, but says nothing. Even though it occupies so much of their time and energy these days, that’s not a conversation that can possibly end well. Or start well. Or go well at any point really. So they just avoid it, except in the particulars. Oliver is training with the sword, which she knows. Felicity helped with the security upgrades. They monitor airport traffic and local airfields for anything unusual. They don’t talk about Ra’s. They don’t talk about the future.

“But, hey, speaking of the lateness?” Felicity says. “Will you give me a heads up when Thea plans to reopen upstairs? Because I’ve kinda gotten used to coming in up there. It’s so nice and clean, and it smells like stale booze instead of stale bodily fluids...but I can get used to that gross alley again when I have to.”

Oliver smiles. “I think you’re safe to take the club entrance for awhile.”

“Really? I’d think now that the security system is up and running, Thea would want to get the club open again.”

“She has a lot going on. I just don’t think that’s where her head is right now.”

Felicity furrows her brow. “Well, I know it’s not where _your_ head is right now. But have you talked to her about it?”

“No, not specifically,” he says. “That’s the point. There are a lot of things to talk about. Verdant isn’t even on the list.”

“Oliver.” Felicity’s eyes narrow, and she inclines her head at him. “ _Put it_ on the list.”

She walks around her desk, over to the mats, and he finds himself wishing he had a staff or something he could put in between them, somewhere to put his hands.

“You know, your sister? She’s not you. Thea shouldn’t have to give up her real life just because she got dragged into this one. That’s a choice _you_ made, and now she’s following your lead.”

Oliver’s heart is pounding, because they can’t talk about that. “She’s not. She just needs more time. And until this is all over--”

“Until what is all over?” Felicity asks. “Until Sara isn’t dead? Until Malcolm is gone? Until you are? This might not end for her; not anymore. But maybe it would help her get through it if she could focus on something other than terror and darkness once in awhile.”

She heaves a big breath and looks down suddenly, as if regretting her outburst. Then she shakes her head slightly and says, softly, “Okay, she’s your sister. If you think she needs more time, maybe you’re right. I’m gonna…just…” Felicity hooks a thumb over her shoulder and walks back to her desk. Oliver lets her go.

But eventually the air thins out again, and somehow, when it does, things feel easier between them than they did before. They talk about what she’s seeing on her various feeds and networks, and she jokes about how mind-numbing it is to comb through it all, and it’s nice. And she lets him walk her to her car afterward, and that’s nice too.

***

The next day, after sparring in the living room for an hour or so, Oliver’s on a stool at the kitchen island, trying not to pay too much attention to what Thea is putting into the blender. She’s concocting a smoothie that is an alarming shade of burnt-orange, and he’s going to drink it because she’s his sister. But he will make groan and make faces about it, because he’s her brother.

Thea slides the glass across the countertop and Oliver chuckles as it comes to a stop directly in front of him. “Show-off.”

She shrugs, “It’s actually like impossible not to do that, after awhile.”

That’s his opening. Because he might need more time than most, but he is capable of realizing when he is wrong. “Hey, Speedy?” He takes a sip and hides a grimace, then says, “When do you want to go back to work?”

Thea almost chokes on her smoothie. She presses the back of her hand to her mouth as she swallows, and says, “Gee, brother, I don’t know. I thought I’d wait until the League of Assassins wasn’t trying to kill us.”

Oliver smiles, tightly. “Well, you know, we’re sort of in a holding pattern, as far as that’s concerned.”

“Yeah, well, I think I’ll wait, all the same.”

He takes another swallow, his lips peeling back a bit in revulsion. Thea rolls her eyes and Oliver clears his throat. “The thing is—you can’t just live like this forever. You know? You have to live your real life too.”

She tilts her head, “Ollie...come on. First of all, it’s not forever. It’s for now. I can barely hold it together as is; I just can’t think about running the club on top of everything.”

“I know it seems like that," he nods. "And I’m not saying you need to open tomorrow. I just want you to start thinking about it again. You like it. You’re good at it. You deserve to have things like that— _good_ things—in your life.”

Thea looks at him for a long minute. “Have you...realized that none of the rest of you really have jobs? Okay, Felicity does. Laurel—how much longer can that last, really? And Roy…well, he works for me, when it’s convenient.” She leans over the island on her elbows. “And what about you, Ollie?”

He raises his eyebrows in warning. “I...tried to have a real job. I wasn’t good at it.” She slaps her hands on the countertop in victory.

“BUT,” Oliver continues, “it’s not like I’ve ruled out trying again. I just...it would need to be different...and anyway, it’s not the same thing. I chose this life; you didn’t. You don’t have to.”

Thea shakes her head. “You don’t have to choose it either. But you do.” She comes around the island, slides his mostly-untouched glass toward the sink, letting him off the hook, and sits down on the stool next to him. “You choose it every day. You think I don’t see that?”

“Well, I hoped you didn’t,” he sighs. “But it’s been brought to my attention that I can be kind of obtuse sometimes.”

She smiles, and puts a hand over his. “Hey, let’s make a deal.” He looks at her, eyebrows raised. “Make an effort to, you know, slowly reintroduce some normalcy around here. I will if you will.”

Oliver smiles back, “You drive a hard bargain.” Then he twists his hand under hers so they can shake on it.

Thea slides off the stool. “Great, okay, step one, you get to take care of these dishes. I am going to take a bubble bath, because I deserve to have good things in my life.”

***

A week later, Thea hires a consultant to handle PR, ad placement, and social media for the Verdant reopening. Roy insists on taking on more managerial duties, so she can ease back in. Oliver catches them climbing all over each other behind the bar one afternoon, and he glowers and makes disgusted sounds like he’s supposed to, but in truth, it kind of warms his heart.

When the posters for the reopening arrive from the printer, Oliver takes one directly downstairs, and lays it on Felicity’s keyboard. And though he tries to convince himself to leave afterward, he doesn’t. She knows the club is reopening; it’s not that it will be a surprise. But for some reason, this feels like a shared victory, and the poster feels like their reward. And maybe neither of them can define it that way, but he can’t help wanting to share it with her anyway.

So he waits, sparring with the training dummy, until she appears. She’s still been working later hours here for awhile, and he should feel guilty about that. And maybe he does, but not guilty enough.

Felicity waves a little "Hey" at him and he nods, then watches as her eyebrows furrow when she sees the poster. She picks it up, and a smile spreads across her face as she takes it in. She laughs a bit, and drums her fingertips against her lips, and Oliver wants to kiss those lips so much in that moment. Wants to pick her up and spin her around and say _thank you, you were right, you are perfect._ But he just smiles back when she looks up at him, and laughs as she rips off a few pieces of surgical tape and affixes the poster onto the shelving next to her desk. "Not bad," she smirks, taking another look at it from her chair. Not bad at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I said "they don't talk about Ra's" in this chapter, I also meant "I'm not going to talk about Ra's," because I can't begin to speculate on how they'll handle that, so just assume going forward that it's still happening in the background, but I'm not concerned with it here. Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected meeting leads to some revelations for Oliver and Felicity.

Felicity sees Ray through the glass walls of her office and she heads out to catch up with him. “Ray…” she calls, and he pauses to wait for her, before they turn toward the conference room together.

They’re at a crossroads—one they’ve been approaching since he found out about the Arrow and vice versa—and now it’s even more complicated. She knows they need to talk, but she doesn’t yet know what she wants to say, so she’s delaying and he’s obliging.

But this is business mode, and though she’s usually quite comfortable there, she feels off her game at the moment. “Why is this meeting on my calendar?” Felicity asks. “Some real estate negotiation? Gerry just said you put it there, and he had no other information. Isn’t this a Jillian thing, not a Me thing?”

“Nope," Ray says, "Jillian has already done what she can here. I need your specific expertise on this one.”

He pushes the door open, Felicity continuing to quietly protest, “I seriously don’t understand how I can contribute to--” The words die in her mouth, as she sees Oliver and Thea rise to greet them from the far side of the table.

There’s a look that flashes in Oliver’s eyes—it’s rage, for a moment, then something sort of haunted—and then it’s gone, replaced by his professional mask. He allows a little displeasure in his voice though, as he says, “Felicity, nice to see you. Ray, not sure why your VP of Technology is here, but I suppose I can guess.”

Ray returns the greeting as he pulls a chair out for Felicity. She sort of falls into it, feeling a sense of vertigo at being on the wrong side of the table. She manages to wave at Thea and furrow her brow at Oliver, and then, still processing, she asks, “This—this is why I’m here?”

“You’re here because I trust your judgment, and I know Oliver and Thea do too, and I am hoping that you will be able to help all of us to come to the best conclusion.” With that, Ray proceeds right onto the agenda. “Well, I know you’ve been in contact with Jillian Stone, our VP of Commercial Property Development, on this matter.”

Oliver nods calmly, “We have. She is tenacious.”

Ray barks out a laugh, “That she is. So much so that this has never happened before, but she finally waved the white flag. She told me that you would not budge, and that she was washing her hands of the whole deal.”

Jutting her chin forward, Felicity asks, “Sorry, what deal?”

Oliver gestures to Ray to explain, and he says, “Oliver owns a piece of real estate on the riverfront in The Glades that PT would like to purchase, and he won’t sell it to us.”

“Technically, our company owns it," Thea says, "which really means Oliver and I both own it. And we are united on this.”

Felicity nods, because that's what a person who understands things would do, but in truth, it feels like everyone else in this room is on the same page and she has the wrong book altogether.

She squeezes both hands around her coffee mug to keep them from shaking. She trembles, occasionally. When she’s really mad, or really happy, or experiencing any strong emotion, actually. Big waves of tremors pass through her. Sometimes her teeth chatter. It’s embarrassing. She hides it, as much as she is able, by clenching her jaw, tensing up her whole body. And she would give anything not to do this right now, but she can’t even nail down the specific feeling that is causing it.

Over the sound of her own blood rushing behind her ears, Felicity hears them continue to discuss the property, presumably for her benefit. Ray needs a new warehouse space in Starling for...apparently sound business reasons, and Oliver won’t sell this particular property for it. There are a lot of numbers and names and facts being tossed around that she can barely follow.

But: Oliver and Thea formed a company, together. They bought property. Maybe multiple properties.

And: Ray brought her here because of her relationship with Oliver. He thinks she can convince Oliver to change his mind.

These are the facts she can understand, though each is inconceivable to her in its own way. Grasping onto those facts gives her a sense of clarity, and allows her to tune back in and focus on the conversation, which has now shifted. Ray and Oliver are primarily talking to each other, arguing with barely-concealed mutual irritation about the finer points of this non-deal.

“Ray, look. We asked Ms. Stone for a detailed outline of your plans for the space, which she provided. The warehouse you propose to build in this location will create, based on your own estimates, one job for every 1,000 square feet. You’re proposing a 30,000 foot space, so let’s say about 30 jobs. I am not selling this property for 30 jobs.”

“I’m not asking you to," Ray blinks. "I’m asking you to sell it for a million dollars.”

Oliver shrugs, “We can get that somewhere else.”

“Oh, you have another offer? Who’s the buyer?” Ray challenges.

“We’ll have an offer soon enough. From someone who will take advantage of the same tax incentives that made it appealing to you, in order to build a facility that can create more jobs in The Glades.”

“I’m working on a marketing plan for the property,” Thea interjects, “along with our agents, which will target every manufacturer on the West Coast, and we’ll cast the net farther if we have to. And if the right buyer doesn’t come along, well, I guess we’ll just hold onto it until Queen, Inc. expands into manufacturing again.”

Ray scoffs, “I’m talking about jobs  _right now._ I’m talking about a plan for that property that will prevent it from being used for criminal activity, right now. I’m talking about replacing an eyesore, a blight on the neighborhood, with a new, clean, functional building. Right now.”

The smallest hint of a smile stretches Oliver’s lips, but his eyes are cold steel. It’s his scary smile, and Felicity almost feels like warning Ray, but it’s too late.

Thea smiles too, but hers is a little less scary and a little more cavalier, as she says, “Sure, Ray. I have a proposal for you, in that case. Why don’t you take that factory you’re planning to build in Central City, and build it right here in Starling—oh, I’m sorry, _Star City_ —instead?”

Ray tenses slightly and nods. "You have friends up there; should have realized." After a moment, he turns to Felicity with raised eyebrows, “Help me out here, please?”

She grips her mug a little tighter. She's beginning to parse the feelings that are roiling around inside her, and one of them is definitely anger at the man to her right. But it's not the time, so she swallows and says evenly, “Why don’t you explain why you want to build the facility in Central City?”

He dips his chin in acquiescence, then looks back to Oliver and Thea. “The factory you referred to will be used for the manufacture of nano- and biotech devices, and Central City is in the high-tech corridor. We believe it’s critical that that side of the company is based there in order to attract the talent we need to develop and produce this technology.”

Oliver inclines his head slightly. “But we’re not talking about your R&D. We’re talking strictly manufacturing here. And besides, that side of PT _is_ headquartered in Starling. Unless....”

Ray gives a short nod. “Yes. Our high-tech and executive headquarters are moving to Central City in the coming months. You’ll read about it in the business journal this week, but--” he brings a finger to his lips, “mum’s the word for the moment. We will maintain our administrative offices here, of course, to monitor our Star City operations.”

Blood is once again rushing to Felicity’s head, and she can no longer meet Oliver’s eyes. She knows he’s putting the pieces together himself. She meant to tell him, of course, especially after the suit thing. But nothing was official, and she wasn’t sure—still isn’t at all sure—and she just...wanted to do it in her own time. It would have been soon though, definitely. Maybe after she had decided. _What’s the point in talking about it, if it comes to nothing,_ she thought.

But now, as she glances back up at Oliver, she would give anything to rewind. Because this time when the mask falls, it stays down a little longer. He looks...scared. And hurt. And this other thing, that she doesn’t want to see or know, but it’s there and she can’t really pretend it’s not. He looks heartbroken. She feels something like that, too.

Finally, Oliver clears his throat, and says, “Well. Ray, I don’t think there’s anything left to discuss. You understand that my sister and I are only interested in selling this property to an organization that will use it to make a major contribution toward the betterment of The Glades and its residents. As I explained to Ms. Stone, several times, we don’t feel your project quite meets those criteria, and we are going to pass on your offer.”

Ray blows out a breath, and looks toward Felicity. She gives a tiny shake of the head, and he opens his hands in capitulation and pushes back from the table, which they all take as a signal to stand.

Felicity feels riveted to her seat for a few extra seconds, having held herself so rigidly for so long. She peels her fingers from her mug, and that seems to free her to stand too. They're all moving toward the door, but as she catches up, she says, “Ray, can you give us a minute?”

"Sure," he grins. "I'm headed into another meeting anyway. Life of a CEO, right?"

Oliver grits his teeth into a tight smile, but as he takes Ray’s offered hand, he says, “Best of luck in Central City. I have no doubt it will be a great fit for you.”

“Thank you,” Ray says. “But you know me—I’ll never leave this city for good, and I don’t intend to abandon our work here, by any means.”

Oliver gives him a more genuine smile. “I’m very glad to hear that.”

Ray shakes Thea’s hand too, and brushes Felicity’s arm on his way out of the room.

As the door closes behind him, Felicity turns to see Thea leaning against the table, watching her. There's a little sadness in her eyes, but it’s quickly replaced by warmth. "It’s good to see you here, Felicity, even if it is a little...awkward."

Some of Felicity's nerves ease, just with the acknowledgment of the situation. Thea's good at that. And many other things, apparently. She sighs, "Okay, look, I am so sorry about—all of this—this meeting. I had no idea. And I don't know what Ray was thinking bringing me into it but--"

"Yes, you do," Oliver says quietly.

She blinks a few times, trying to let that one go. "Well, I know what he'll say. He will seriously not understand the problem here because he just doesn't see things like that at all. There's this blind spot, like he can't understand complexity in human relationships, which is pretty ironic considering he deals with super complex things all day long."

“I’m sure Ray didn’t mean to, like, take advantage, or anything,” Thea says, shooting Oliver a quick look.

Felicity accepts that gratefully, then clears her throat and says, "So, you started a company!"

Oliver smiles at his sister, who chuckles, "Well, ‘company’ is a pretty fancy name for what is, right now, basically Verdant, plus a condemned brickpile and the land it sits on."

"Okay, but still!" Felicity laughs. "It’s great. I bet your parents would be proud."

“I think so,” Oliver says, still looking at Thea. The smile hangs on his lips, but his eyes are clouded.

Thea glances between them. "Hey, Ollie, why don’t I go bring the car around? Meet you out front?" He nods, and she straightens up to go. “See you soon, Felicity?”

“Absolutely,” Felicity hears herself say, as though the voice is piped in from another room. Her heart is beating so hard, and the tremors are back, and this is just going to be a mess.

It takes Oliver a few seconds after his sister leaves to look Felicity in the eye. When he does, she takes a big breath. "I’m really sorry—again. I would never have--”

“I know. I believe you.”

“Okay, thank you.” She bites her lip and closes her eyes, drawing everything in tight to steady herself before letting go to say, “But I—Ray shouldn't have said that...about Central City. You shouldn't have found out that way. And I know this feels exactly like last time—I _swear_ it’s not like that—but I still...I should have told you."

"That you're moving 600 miles away?"

"No. Well...that I'm...considering it," she admits, quietly.

Oliver has kept his face and voice even and clear, but now a breath catches on its way out, and his jaw clenches as if he wants to bite that breath back down. It tears something inside her. She swallows against the burning in her throat, and continues to explain, “Obviously it’s a huge thing to think about. Complicated. And with everything going on, I didn’t want to give you something else to worry about. Especially if it doesn’t end up happening. If I had even felt close to deciding, I would have talked to you beforehand, of course. It just didn’t seem necessary yet, but now, I’m just...I’m sorry,” she finishes.

His eyes are flashing, but then he drops his gaze and pleads, "Don't be sorry, Felicity.” Her heart twists, and when Oliver looks back up at her, his eyes are softer, and that's even worse. His voice is soft too, as he says, “You don't owe me any more apologies."

Felicity can't manage to say anything to that, and he gives her one of his micro-smiles, and then moves to leave. Without thinking, she reaches out to catch his arm, and Oliver tenses, inhaling slowly. She drops her hand, squeezing it into a fist so tight her nails dig into her palm, and looks at him with another apology in her eyes. After a beat, he continues past her to the door, and before he opens it, he says, "Will you tell Dig, please? I don't want to keep this from him, but it would be better coming from you."

“Of course," Felicity nods. "I’ll...I’ll catch him tomorrow. And then we can all talk about it, sometime. You know, if...necessary.”

Oliver looks her in the eye again for a few seconds, but she can’t read him, and then he nods and walks away. Walks out of the conference room where they fought to save his company together, where he saved her from a demented drug dealer once. Past the office where they used to roll their eyes at each other through the glass walls, and send snarky emails just to see each other laugh. Out of this building where they first met, back when he used to lie to her, before they earned each other’s trust.

Before they apparently lost it again.

The tragedy of that strikes her—harder than maybe anything since he died—and Felicity clicks the lock on the conference room door, sinks into a chair, and silently cries.

***

She tells John the next night, while Oliver is suiting up. He looks stricken. Well, for him, anyway. He covers it fairly quickly, substituting for his usual skepticism as he says, “You really haven’t decided?”

Felicity shakes her head. “No. There’s a lot to consider, obviously.” That’s when Oliver emerges, and they both stop talking.

“Ready?” he asks Dig, who lifts his chin in reply.

Felicity steps back toward her desk, and waits until her back is to them to take a calming breath and clear her face. Then she grabs a small plastic box and turns back with a smile. “Okay, here it is—my favorite bug ever. See? So tiny and cute and devious! Once it’s attached, it lies flat. Pretty brilliant.” Dig makes the appropriate impressed grunt, before heading to the case to grab guns. She continues her instructions, handing the bug to Oliver. “So. No recording devices are allowed in these meetings, which means no phones. The alderman will have to leave his cell phone in his office, so that’s where I want you to put the bug. Try to attach it to the side, preferably under that tacky faux-wood case. That way, we can track his movements and catch way more than we would if we just put it somewhere in his office, like we were still living in the Dark Ages of radio technology.”

Oliver nods and zips the box into his breast pocket, and when he looks back up at Felicity, a small, fond smile forms on his face. She smiles back, bemused. He takes a short breath, and his shoulders drop a little as he exhales, “I don’t know what we’ll do without you.”

Dig is waiting and Oliver quickly joins him before she can respond, and she doesn’t know what she could have said to that anyway.

***

It eats at her, though, the whole time it takes the guys to get out to the building. So while they take up their positions on opposite ends of the alleyway, and wait for security to finish their sweep, Felicity switches the comms so only Oliver can hear her.

“Hey. Uh, it’s just us for a second.”

He “mm-hmms” back, barely audible, a rumbling hum in her ear.

“Um, about earlier...and everything...I mean, you know I would never leave, right, unless we had all our systems perfectly in place—so--”

“Felicity, I wasn’t talking about that.”

“--so that it would be like I was right here, in the Foundry, every night. I’d be on comms, just like always, and you wouldn’t even notice a difference, really--”

“Of course we would,” Oliver says, with a strain in his voice that she can’t bear.

Tears form in her eyes, and Felicity knows he’ll hear them but she can't stop talking. “--and I would be back here all the time anyway, but I would just...I would never go, you know? If...if I didn’t feel like I could operate at that level.”

She hears Oliver take a shallow breath. “I know,” he says softly, “I’m sorry I upset you.”

A little groan escapes her. “You didn’t," she says, wiping her eyes. "I shouldn’t have tried to talk about it while you’re in the field. Just...go do this thing.”

She takes a long deep breath, lets it out slowly and quietly. Then she switches the comms back so John can hear, forcing a brightness into her voice that she doesn't feel. “The guard is moving to the fourth floor in about 60 seconds. The meeting is supposed to end in ten minutes, so you should have almost that long to get in and plant that little guy.”

The guys give their affirmative and get to work. Felicity slumps back in her chair and monitors the security system video feed (she swapped the real feed for a loop from earlier in the evening), until she sees them. She watches them work in sync, taking turns leading and following, Dig keeping lookout at the door while Oliver searches the office.

Then she pictures herself at some other desk, in probably a much nicer building, in a sunnier city, doing the same thing. Watching a monitor, keeping an eye on them, waiting for them to come back. Only she wouldn't be there when they did. 

“Felicity?” Oliver, in her ear.

“Hmmm—yeah?”

“You going to test this thing?”

“Oh!” Felicity says, scrambling to sit up and get the bug online. “Sorry, yes. Tap it a few times for me?”

The levels jump on her screen, and she makes some adjustments. “Mute your comms for a second, and try it again. Then say something.”

He taps a couple of times, waits a few seconds, and into the bug, he says, “Felicity? Are you there?”

“I’m here! Now, you get out of there. See you when you get back.”

Felicity leans forward in her chair, letting her chin drop to her chest, trying to stretch some of the tension out of her neck. She thinks about how, in that imaginary office in that sun-soaked city, she wouldn’t see them at the end of a night like this. Maybe Laurel or Roy or even Thea would be there instead, or maybe they’d all take turns. They’d congratulate each other, or thank each other for the save, or regroup and come up with next steps. Maybe Felicity would videoconference in for those conversations, but that would require someone on the Starling side remembering to do that, let alone knowing how.

And you can’t patch someone up over Skype. You can’t come in with surprise takeout and get mobbed by a pack of starving vigilantes. You can’t run up to Verdant for a drink, or a shot, or the whole damn bottle. You can't smell the musty pipes, the burnt coffee, the disinfectant, the leather, the sweat, all of these things that she's secretly come to love. 

And you can’t grab onto someone when they get back from the field, checking for wounds they didn’t notice, lingering longer than you should, trying not to be too obvious when you run your fingers over their jacket, over their skin, just needing proof of life.

You can’t touch them at all, not from 600 miles away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Felicity arrive at the moment of truth.

Oliver’s phone buzzes on his desk—it’s a text from Felicity asking him to meet her at the Foundry. He must have made some kind of noise, because Thea looks over his shoulder in their makeshift office in the loft, and sucks in a breath. "She decided, you think?”

“Don’t know,” he says.

She frowns a bit. “Well, how did you try to convince her to stay?”

Oliver tilts his head at her. “Thea, come on. I don’t want her to feel like she has to stay because of...me.”

“Oh my God, _why not?”_

“Because—I had my chance months ago, and months before that, and she moved on, and it wouldn’t be fair to make this difficult for her. I have no right to impose on her like that.”

Thea shakes her head at him, slowly. “You have literally learned nothing. It’s amazing.”

“Hey, I have made great strides in living a normal life,” Oliver protests. “During business hours. When possible.... Look, if I’d allowed you to give me a gold star for every step I’ve taken, we would have filled your little calendar by now.”

“But you _didn’t_ let me. Because you hate fun." She narrows her eyes. "And don’t try to derail this conversation. Felicity is threatening to move to Central City, and you’re going to let her go without even putting up a fight! She doesn’t even know you want to put up a fight. She thinks you’re still the same guy, in the same sad place, not willing to let anyone in.”

They trade glares, and Thea throws her hands up. “She didn’t even know about the company! It’s like you’re purposely keeping all your progress hidden from her.” Her eyebrows rise. “Oh. No, it’s not like that, it _is_ that." He doesn't respond, so she pushes. "What’s the end goal here, Ollie?”

“There is no end goal,” he sighs, exasperated. “I just—we don’t really talk anymore, and I don’t know how to start again.”

Thea puts a hand on his shoulder. “Or it could be," she says slowly, "you’re scared to find out what happens if she knows everything—about how you’ve changed and the work you’re doing. Like, maybe it’s really too late, and you don’t want to know that for sure.”

Oliver lets his head fall back to the headrest, looking up at her wearily.

“Hey, take it from an expert on avoidance behaviors—you definitely won’t fix anything that way.” Thea sits back down in her own desk chair, takes one last look at him, and says, “Go meet with her. Put on your biggest big boy pants and tell her everything. She should have all the facts either way.”

He shakes his head at her. “Man, you’re annoying.”

“Annoyingly _right,_ so,” she shrugs, turning back to her laptop.

Oliver stopped trying to get the last word with Thea when she was a preteen, so he doesn’t bother to tell her that he’d come to the same conclusion, fair or not, as soon as he read the text.

***

He leaves early. He can’t think clearly at home anyway, and he wants to get there before her. Selfish, maybe, but his instinct drives him to do this in all circumstances. To claim a position first; lie in wait; never let anyone get the jump. He’s not as comfortable coming into a situation already in progress.

Ironically, if he’d had any brainspace leftover from his thoughts of her, Oliver would have realized that Felicity would do the same thing. Not for the same reasons, but her own, not so different. She likes to be prepared. All Ts crossed; every I with its dot. Never caught flat-footed. So when he opens the door and sees the lights are already on, he realizes his mistake immediately.

_Of course. Okay. Okay. We’re doing this now, right now. It’s already in motion and there is no more stalling or planning or thinking or crafting, it’s just go time._

Oliver hears her heels clicking softly across the floor and sees Felicity walking toward the stairs as he comes down them. _How many times before,_ he thinks. _How many more times, now?_

She’s wearing this dress. It’s black and white, sort of vertically-striped, with this red belt; the skirt floats around her legs as she walks, and it's like everything is in slow-motion. Her ponytail, too, swinging primly behind her; her hands, fisted but fidgety at her sides. He’s staring, he knows, but he won’t stop because he doesn’t know how this ends, and the time for hiding and pretending is over, at least for this one afternoon.

“Hi,” he says, a little sheepishly, because he knows he’s early and so does she.

“Hi,” Felicity smiles, and as Oliver reaches the bottom of the stairs, she says, “Um...hi,” again.

_She’s nervous,_ he thinks, but it doesn’t help because that could mean anything. And actually, it doesn’t matter, because he needs to get this out, and if he knows what she’s thinking—good or bad—he might not say it.

“Thanks for coming," she says, absently running the pad of her thumb over her aqua nails. "I didn’t know what your plans were today or anything, but I just wanted to talk to you as soon--”

“No problem,” he says quickly. “I wasn’t busy. Just doing some research with Thea.”

Felicity’s eyebrows twitch down, and then back up. “Fun! Or, as much fun as research can be, I guess, for people who aren't me.”

Oliver huffs out a laugh.

“Still kinda...can't get over it. You, starting a company with Thea.”

He swallows, and nods slowly, “Yeah...um, do you want to hear about that? I mean I know you wanted to talk to me about--”

“Of course I want to hear about it,” she says, her face flickering with tension.

Oliver smiles, and just sits down on the stairs. His nerves are getting to him, and this is probably as good a place as any. He looks up at Felicity in invitation, and she half-smiles and drops down next to him.

He runs his hands over his knees. “Okay, so, I started a company with Thea.” She exhales a laugh, and he does too. “Uh, as you know. It was after she agreed to reopen Verdant—I convinced her to look into real estate development with me, as a next step. An entry point. We both have some of the insurance money left over, but Walter helped with the financing.” He stops and grins, “Thea is good at this. She’s good at running the club, and she’s good at reading people. I shouldn’t be so surprised—my mom was good at that, too.”

“So are you,” Felicity says.

“Not like them," Oliver shrugs. "Not like you.” He purses his lips and then continues, “You know, seeing what Malcolm did to her—he took something so good, with so much promise, and twisted it. That’s not who she is—a killer, a soldier—that’s not who Thea Queen is supposed to be.” He pauses. “It’s too late to change anything that happened, but it’s not too late to carve out a better life, some happiness.”

Felicity nods, a bit of pride in her eyes, in the tight corners of her lips. It sends something warm through him, but it's not enough to ease his nerves. Because this is where the conversation really starts, even if she doesn’t know it.

“So, I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about that—about the company,” Oliver continues, passing a hand across his mouth. “But it’s complicated because...because it’s all tied up with you, for me.”

A little crease forms between her brows. “What do you...?” she wonders.

“I mean that at some point," he says, "I realized that I was doing this as much for myself as for Thea. I had started living my life, my real life, by accident. By trying to help my sister do the same thing I needed to do myself. By trying to be a good brother, and friend, and a part of this city during the daytime hours.” The pounding in his heart has become actually painful at this point, causing a slight waver in his voice that he hopes she doesn’t hear. “And that’s what you always pushed me to do, so you were a part of it for me.”

Felicity is smiling at him now, as though seeing him for the first time in ages. He takes some comfort from that—he can’t remember the last time she looked at him, unguarded. Then the smile fades from her face, and her eyes search his, and finally his eyebrows knit together in a question.

She glances down at her hands for a second, and when she looks back up, there is something unreadable in her face, and she says, “I just...I've been wondering when you were going to wake up.”

That rests between them for a minute, and Oliver finds he’s almost glad he can’t tell what she’s thinking. Then he shrugs faintly, “Well, the truth is that I'm not totally reformed.” He takes a slow breath, getting shakier as his pulse picks up pace. “I'm still selfish. I want the real life, but I...want that life to be with you.”

Felicity looks frozen, her eyes wide, her lips parted, her elbows locked into her ribs, hands clasped on her knees. Oliver takes her in, all of her, in this last moment before he throws it all up in the air. He’s so close. Just one last thing.

“I love you,” he says, plainly. “That never changed.” He drops his gaze. “And I would never ask anything of you, Felicity. I would never ask you to change your life for me. But if you stayed here, and if you could ever trust me again, I would...” His voice fails, but he pushes on anyway, breathing, “I would do anything.” 

And that's it. That's everything. It would almost be a relief, except that he has no idea how she's feeling. And before he can bring himself to look at her, she stands, taking a step away from the stairs, and Oliver’s heart clenches, his throat burning as though he just sprinted a mile.

After a minute, feeling not entirely in control of his body, he stands too. Gritting his teeth, he takes her by the arm, turning her to face him. “Felicity?”

Her eyes are downcast, her lashes brushing her cheeks beneath her glasses. She bites her lip for a moment. “You should ask.”

“What?”

“Ask me,” she says again, a slight tremor in her voice. “Ask me to stay.”

His heart—which has been thudding with dread for hours, maybe days upon days upon years—goes still and he can hardly think, so the words just tumble out, in a harsh rasp.

“Stay, Felicity. Please stay.”

He holds his breath, mind full of white noise.

And then she raises her eyes to meet his, shining and bright and so blue. A smile pulls at one corner of her lips, and is that...is that the answer? His heart starts thudding again. “Are you--?”

Felicity’s smile slowly takes over her whole face. “Yeah,” she nods. “Yeah...I’m staying. That’s what I wanted to tell you. Well, that and a whole slew of other things. I mean, I had this whole speech planned, and it was _good,_ but then you started talking—and _wow,_ you should really do that more often.”

Oliver's still holding her arm, and he finds himself pulling her closer, his breathing shallow. She glances at his hand curling around her elbow, and says, “Ask me what else I was going to say.”

“What, um,” he says absently, mind still reeling, trying to catch up, “what else were you going to say?”

Felicity smiles, and her eyes are actually twinkling. “I was going to say that I’m staying, because when I tried to imagine leaving Starling, I realized I could never do it. I could never be somewhere else. I couldn’t be with someone else, not anymore. Not as long as you’re here,” she says, her breath catching a bit. She clears her throat. “Oh, and then, I was going to go on this whole thing about how I no longer accept that you can’t have a life outside of this cave, blah blah etc etc, and somehow it would just be a lot more convincing than usual.”

She lays a hand on his chest, and it feels like she’s grounding herself. “There was one more thing," she says, turning her face up to his. "I was going to tell you that I love you.” Oliver’s eyes just flit around her face, not able to stop anywhere, not able to comprehend. Her eyes fill but she blinks a few times, and says, “And then I...I just hoped that would be enough.”  

His hand is on her back, suddenly, and hers is right over his pounding heart, her mouth right there, so close. "My turn to ask a question,” she whispers. “Don’t you think you should probably be kissing m--"

But he was halfway there before she started, and his lips find hers before she can finish. There’s a warmth that begins there and floods his entire body, and it seems to melt off the shock that has encased him for the last few minutes. The truth overwhelms him. Felicity is not leaving. She is staying here, and she wants to be with him. She is kissing him, and his arms are around her, and it's not a dream and it's not a goodbye. She loves him, and this is happening.

Suddenly it’s like all the time he’s spent in exile from her catches up with him, and he’s just a mess of sensation. He feels like a teenager again, just a kid who has never touched a woman before, has no higher brain function, is made entirely of impulse and reaction.

The kiss turns heavier, his skin thrumming, his body seeking hers everywhere they meet. Oliver’s hand slips down of its own accord, urging her hips into his, and he hums out some sort of moan before he can stop it. And then he just lifts her off the ground entirely. Felicity lets out a little whoop, breaking the kiss and laughing against his neck. Setting her down again, he laughs a little too, breathlessly.

He pulls away from her with some effort, hands still holding her hips, her hands slipping up and down his arms while they catch their breath. He clears his throat. “So, um, what are you doing for the rest of the day?”

“Nothing. Do you want to go to dinner with me?”

Oliver nods, a smile that feels like it might become permanent pulling at his lips. “Where?”

“Anywhere; not Italian. Nowhere we’d need a reservation.”

“Agreed. When?”

“Now.”

“Felicity, it’s 4:30.”

“Great, more time for dessert later.” Her eyes widen. “Oh! I didn’t even mean that.” She seems to realize that her fingers are kneading his biceps and she stills them for just a moment, before saying, “But...what if I...kind of do mean that?”

“Then I think I love you and dessert sounds perfect.” Oliver pulls her back in, planting kisses from her lips down to her shoulder.

Felicity runs her fingertips through his hair—which she could just do every day for the rest of his life as far as he’s concerned—and sighs, "This is, without a doubt, the best conversation we've ever had." She kisses the top of his head and says, "I mean, we are really good at this. I think it bodes well for the future, don’t you? If you could just—oh!” She shivers as his lips brush over her throat, and he grins and kisses her there again. “See, that. That, right there. I can’t imagine a problem we couldn’t solve just by...talking...about things.”

Oliver moves back up, to her jaw, her chin. All these things he imagined for so long, all these places he wanted to touch, all available to him now, and he can’t stop himself. “Or, not...talking...also…would be…” Felicity trails off, finding his lips again.

They do a lot of talking and not talking for the rest of the night, and they won’t make it out to dinner, but they will make it to the tiny bed she bought him once upon a time, and they have all the nights in their lives to go to dinner, but only one night like this. Only one second chance, the last they’ll need. And they will ask themselves if they should take it slow. At every step, from this one on, they will ask _Is this too much? Is this too fast?_ Should we go on a full date first? Shouldn’t we be together longer before moving in? Maybe we should have a long engagement, time to plan something big? But at every step, they will say no. No, because they are already in love. No, because they don’t want to spend another minute apart. No, because they belong to each other, because they have for longer than either of them really knew, and no amount of thinking or talking or waiting will change that, and they have wasted enough time already.


End file.
